Ever met one of those guys? You know, the ones that get everything handed to them? The ones who inhereit billions and never work a day in their lives? That’s me. My father founded Wolves’ Pact, a network of trustworthy individuals in every part of the world working every job imaginable. It started with seven people, and expanded to several hundred. It would be much bigger, but we don’t use anyone we don’t trust.

Wolves’ Pact’s purpose is twofold. First, we can aquire anything in the world. By anything, I mean anything. We find and sell everything except people. The one thing we don’t deal in is slavery. That isn’t to say we don’t sell dates. We get bids for diamonds, cars, rare plants, exotic pets, and almost everything else. If there’s one in the world, we can sell it to you. While this is very obviously illegal, we get by. The police trade a turned back for our unlimited supply of information. The FBI trades our exsistance for knowledge. And now I come to our second purpose.

All of these loyal people, we are also a network of highly skilled spies. The ‘soldier’ who found Saddam? That was my good friend Sandman, our Iraqi agent. Spies, and also assassin’s. Elvis? Us. Nixon? Greasemonkey’s work. You’ve never heard of Wolves’ Pact, and you probably never will. We prefer anonymity.

But enough. It was a slight lie when I said I never worked a day in my life, but I really love my job. I make more in a week that some make in a year. I am six foot four, two hundred and fifteen pounds. I have blue eyes, and dark brown hair. I like to keep it short, out of my eyes. When I’m not in a suit or jumpsuit, it’s free and slightly gelled into spikes. As to facial hair, I keep what you might call a ‘soul patch’ tightly trimmed. It’s trangular, and reaches to the middle part of my chin. I have no piercings, though when I was in highschool, I did have two eyebrow rings. On my left shoulderblade, I have the stylized kanji for ‘Wolf’, a trademark of my organization. I’m slightly tanned, with a dusky complexion.

I try not to live super rich, but I do have several houses around the world, each with a different sportscar. Off work, I usually stay in London. I keep a Ferrari 599 GTB Foriano there. I also have a home in Italy, with a Lamborghini Mercielago. Germany I have an Aston Martin, Japan, a Nissan Concept model, and in the United States I have my crown jewel, a personally configured Buggati Veyron. The Veyron cost me more than the two story mansion it resides in.

I know what you’re thinking: “Try not to live super rich, huh?”, but I rarely drive these cars. I have a Mustang in the US, and in Europe, I usually walk.

I was playing in my Mustang somewhere in Colorado, when a Ferrari pulled up next to me. The guy revved his engine, and I tried to look through his tinted windows. Slightly amused, I winked at where I assumed his head to be from my convertible. He revved the engine again, so I took it as a challenge and revved back. Next to a Ferrari, even a stock, my engine didn’t sound as impressive as I was used to, but it wasn’t completely pathetic. The light I was waiting for flashed green, and I took an early lead. After only a few seconds, however, the fed car started to overtake me. Now kind of annoyed, I switched to the newly installed sixth gear, and started pulling ahead. The guy in the Ferrari must be amazed now, I thought, as I continued to widen the gap between cars. Like I’d actually race someone with a stock engine. I heard a hissing sound, and a rumble, and almost lost the wheel as the aforementioned car blew past me. Understanding immediately, I armed my own NOS. A red light flashed ‘System Armed’. I flicked a switched, and pulled the trigger. G-force forced me into my seat, and I fought to control the car. I easily caught the Ferrari, and almost rear-ended it when it activated it’s hazards.